Taxi - a Cyberpunk Introduction
by storytelleric
Summary: This is the introduction my gaming group had to my Cyberpunk character "Taxi". For the uninitiated, Cyberpunk characters have randomly rolled personalities, quirks, and traits, so it was a bit of a challenge to figure out how everything meshed together. But fun! Edited by Sabrina06. Note: Had to select Shadowrun as the game because there is no Cyberpunk entry.
1. You're Late!

**Part 1: "You're Late!"**

My stroll is perfect as I enter the buzzing Red Cab office. Despite the noise, my boss's aggrieved yell cuts clear across the room. "You're late!"

He doesn't get it. Of _course_ I'm late. It's hard to make an _entrance -_ you know, the kind of entrance you can only make with the _right_ saunter, in adaptive camo, big hair and spike-heeled boots - when you're _early_.

I catch the keys he flings in my direction. By the time they hit my palm, he's already rattled off an address and "ten minutes!"

Everyone in the office is pretty good at what they do. You don't stay long at Red if you're not. And they all do the same thing I do automatically - a quick mental processing of the route. And then reprocessing when they figure out that there is no f'ing way that that amounts to anything less than a twenty-two minute trip.

I know the roads they're thinking of, and they're right. At this time of day, it would probably be more like twenty-three or twenty-four.

For me? Nine. Tops.

I raise my boss's blood pressure another notch by grabbing a soykaf before strolling back out the door. Despite the outward casualness, my mind's already racing down the route, flagging construction zones, T-jams, tollbooths and speed traps.

I swing into Car 13 and hum the 'lectrics. Cuz I know my boss is watching on the cams, I finally let him have what he needs: I pirouette the car on the spot, hit the gas, and I'm out of the gate before it's even up. (Don't ask how. I ain't gonna tell.)

Outside, everyone's standing still. Oh, they _think_ they're moving. I let my consciousness expand so that everything registers but nothing focuses, dance the car over two lanes (it's just _paint on the road_ , people!) and I'm off. A text comes in through the car deck.

[TBelt: Betting on you. Don't let me down!]

Ah there we go, good old Tinkerbelt, taking advantage of the office noobs again. I wonder how many of them took her up on that bet. I have a heartbeat of time between two mom-vans to reply.

[Taxi: I get half.]

[TBelt: Deal.]

Alley. One-way-wrong-way. Sidewalk. Three-level parkade with half-hidden exit to the next street over. Across the railway a hairs-breadth before the train (there's that gate-trick again, and no, I still ain't telling). Self-righteous prick in a guzz-truck tries to cut me off, but I'm already past him, his rude gesture instantly forgettable. Time's counting down but so's the klicks. I leave two cops wondering if they just saw a red blur or if it was just their caffeinated imaginations.

Two blocks left, and forty-five seconds. I have a choice: two blocks of heavy traffic, or an alleyway that I know is full of garbage bins and homeless.

Yeah, I made it. Ten seconds to spare. Not a scratch on the car, either. Though I'm pretty sure that one bin isn't _quite_ in the same spot anymore.


	2. No I'm Not!

**Part 2: "No I'm not."**

The back door of Car 13 slams shut. "You're late!"

Seriously, in today's era, with wifi-everything constantly syncing to the orbitals, there's no excuse for lies like that. So I'm perfectly justified in my offhand reply. "No, I'm not."

Predictably, the stuffed suit huffs and puffs, having obviously expected that I'd be an actual people-person and grovel to him. I ain't his toady. I'm his taxi driver. I'm just as much a professional as he is.

I _am_ Taxi. That's my handle, and uncontested by anyone who knows what I can do. When desperate people call for a taxi, what they _want_ is ME. When someone else shows up, all they get is a pale imitation. You want to be there almost before you left? I do that. You want people not to see you going from A to B? That too. Want to be picked up from a dangerous spot? Well, there's an extra charge for that, but yeah.

I ain't the best, though. Don't get me wrong, I'm damn good. And proud of it, too. I ain't the top, but I've seen who _is_. You want to see a cab teleport? No, not _really_. Don't be ridiculous! But next best thing, and I mean it. I can pull some crazy stunts. I can put a car in places you'd never have thought possible. But _her_...? You wouldn't believe it even once you'd seen it.

Her handle is Red Light Sonja. And I'm _still_ in love with that bitch. But that's a story for another time.

"Where we going?" I ask my grumpy passenger.

"The airport!" His voice gives off warning bells of urgency.

"When's your flight leave?" I keep my tone conversational, because I strongly suspect what's coming. Pull smoothly into traffic. No stunts yet, not until we know for sure.

"Thirty minutes! You need to step on it!"

Ah, yes. The old argument of 'I'm running late so it's YOUR fault.' This would be why I don't work for one of the big corps. The airport would normally be forty minutes away.

"How strong is your stomach?" The question catches him unaware. He stares at me in the rearview. I repeat the question.

"Uh, just get me there!"

I free up part of my brain to start calculating routes. Who am I kidding; it was already doing that. I just give it more leeway to do what it does best. Meanwhile, I text the office.

[Taxi: Auth for 2x fare? 30min/airport]

[RedLdr: Charge 90e.]

[Taxi: Copy that, Red Leader]

"It'll cost you ninety euro. You good with that?"

"Whatever! Just step on it. I'm calling the airport to see if they'll delay..."

"Don't bother. You'll be there. Hold on. I mean it."

I ignore his response. Deep breath. _Include everything, focus on nothing_. Here we go.

The noobs think it's about speed. Go faster and you'll get there sooner, right? That's not it at all, not in the city. It's about patterns. Burning rubber on one block won't help if you're stuck at a red light on the next. You have to know the patterns of lights, pedestrians, cops, _everything_. Know when businesses close. Know when the schools get out. Know when conferences are happening, when the ferries and container ships dock, when the trains run (and when they break down). Know when someone's pulled over, and where that fire just broke out.

Sounds exhausting, neh?

Not for me. It's always been automatic, even before the cyber. Eight channels of news constantly feeding in, and my brain always finding the patterns. Some people think it's a mental disorder. I call it free money.

The car sings and dances. The route is challenging, especially as we near the airport. There's lots of traffic, and more importantly, lots of security. They don't like vehicles that behave erratically, and there's only a few service roads that won't set off the alarms. But I still make it in twenty-two minutes.

I know the guy's in a rush, so I tell him to slot his card _before_ we arrive. He _probably_ isn't the type to run on a fare, but I don't like or trust people, especially the 'better than everyone else' types.

Yeah, I know, the irony isn't lost on me.

He doesn't say thanks (typical) before he yanks the door and runs for the terminal building, but I notice a 30e tip on the bill. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all. I pull away from the taxi stand at a more sedate pace; there's no need to rush, for now.

[Taxi: Hey Tbelt, wanna go for drinks tonight?]

[Tbelt: Same answer as every week, you ass!]

There's my Tinkerbelt. Never changes. What a sweetheart!


	3. Just In Time

**Part 3: "Just In Time"**

Meandering away from the airport, I stop at Timbucks for another soykaf. I know you can get 'em in pill form now, but where's the fun in that?

On my way back through town, I take a couple low-key passengers who just want to go home after shopping. Nothing special there, so I keep the antics down and stick to the main streets. After that, I get a closest-cab call from HQ for a pickup at the bus terminal. As luck would have it, that was me.

When I get there and see the customer, I get a hell of a shock.

Thin female, five-foot-lots. Crimson hair with lipstick and nails to match. Casual pose with hips canted just-so, backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

She's a near-perfect photocopy of Sonja. I know it's _not_ her; the face is off and she's not quite that tall, but she's close enough to bring back all those memories.

We go through the formalities: hello-how-de-do's, bags in the trunk, where-ya-going, all that stuff. I start off into traffic, but I'm off my game, half-lost in my own backstory.

Ah, Red Light Sonja. I miss that crazy bitch. Last time I saw her, she was applying a crowbar none-too-gently to the side of my head. Won't claim I didn't deserve it, a little. At least I got a new eye out of it.

There'd been a race. She started this thing, back when she was a manager at Combat Cab. If you wanted a raise, you had to beat her across town during rush hour. But nobody ever could. I came the closest, using the tricks she'd taught me, but still couldn't win. We were lovers at the time, and I'm pretty sure I got lessons that nobody else got. No, not _those_ lessons. For driving, I mean!

But I'd resolved to myself that I was gonna win, even though she was clearly the better driver.

The way we drive, it's all about the patterns. You know the patterns and insert yourself into them. It gets harder when the patterns change mid-stream. Also harder when you're not in the right frame of mind, like when you're pissed off. It's a zen thing, you know?

So first thing I did, right off the start line, was cut her off. She hates that. Then I did it again. I had to work hard to stay enough in front of her, but the look on her face in the rearview was worth it. She finally pulled ahead, which is when the second part of the plan kicked in.

I knew what route she'd use - I could see the patterns too. Some parts of it were so tough that it made me queasy to even think about - there were some parkades and intersections that were damn tricky to navigate, but _she_ wouldn't even be slowed down. Unless, for example, there were some broken-down cars that just happened to be in the way at that precise moment. And another place where there was a tense, but secret, police standoff after a certain anonymous phone call.

Even with all these _completely random_ circumstances (you can see my gas-powered halo, can't ya?), I was still barely even with her. I knew she'd pull ahead. I needed one more trick.

The last part of the course required us to cross the river. There are bridges, but of course those are natural choke points during high-traffic times. The rail bridge is a possibility, if there's no train on it (don't argue with a train. Even Sonja and I would lose _that_ one), but the only alternative is the high bridge. They call it a 'Double-Leaf Bascule' or something like that, and it had been left up for the last two weeks for repairs.

Sonja would take the rail bridge, even though the high bridge was closer. She was damn good - the best, in fact - but she wasn't crazy. To beat her, I'd need to _be_ that crazy. I followed her for a while, almost keeping up, then suddenly cut off for the high bridge. She'd instantly realize what I was doing, but I'd taken one of the last possible routes - she'd have to double back if she wanted to follow me.

Huge gates with warning lights and traffic cones blocked the bridge, a piece of cake for me to get around, but the true test would be maintaining the speed to get over the gap. I felt the impact as I hit the upward angle, gas pedal all the way to the floor. The gap loomed in front of me as the speedometer quivered downward. Then ... open air. _That_ is a sensation I will never forget. I'd done the calculations in advance (I'm not an idiot, and I know my physics!) but there's a world of difference between theory and reality.

WHAM.

I made it! The impact was just over the top of the opposite span. I hit the brakes hard. Everything I had was tested to the limit. I swear that poor cab was held together by nothing more than my force of will. A tooth-rattling smash at the bottom, one more bounce, swerve around the gates, and off down the street. One of the tires had blown, and everything else wobbled like a drunkard, but it was only two blocks to the finish.

As I gunned it down the street and started to make the last left turn to the finish, I caught a glimpse of Sonja's car flashing up on the right. I took everything that that little car could give me and I did the unthinkable one last time... I cut her off _again_.

As I crossed the finish, the car's engine finally quit, and it settled to the road with an audible groan. But I'd done it. I'd beaten her! And that's when the crowbar hit. I told you that cutting her off was a bad idea...

"You missed my stop."

I snap out of my reverie and look around. My customer was right. I'd been so lost in thought that I'd missed her turnoff. Cursing to myself, I apologize and turn the car around. Hopefully they wouldn't notice, back at the office.

[TBelt: You missed her stop! Hahaha]

 _Damnit!_


End file.
